


Still To Witness

by Estirose



Category: Villains by Necessity - Eve Forward
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estirose/pseuds/Estirose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azal and Hruul aren't necessarily evil, but the Light doesn't approve of them anyway. A priest of Azal and a priest of Hruul talk about how to start over after everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still To Witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/gifts).



> Many thanks to Lan, who betaed this for me despite knowing nothing of the fandom. If I could find a copy to give to you, I would!

Neri poked the shadow with her stick. She was pretty sure she'd seen someone in there, somebody who was slipping through the shadows, and the gasp confirmed it. Some thief or killer, maybe, one of those who relished the darkness and the cover it brought.

The person might have been an innocent villager that had just walked into the shadows in an absentminded mistake, but Neri had seen the moves before, and she knew what she was facing. "You might as well come out," she told the shadow. "I can see you there."

"I didn't mean to intrude," the youngish man said, stepping out of the shadows with a fluid grace. He made a sign that could have been mistaken for a nervous twitch, but she knew better. She spotted the sign of truce, the sign of meeting, which few of the light knew but those of the dark recognized by sight. 

”You’re out of practice, if you're following certain... folks." Neri said, making the recognition sign back. The young man visibly relaxed.

"I am," he said, with a sheepish grin. "I was a shopkeeper for a while, not by choice."

"Ah." It was terrible, what had been done to the land. Azal had lost so many followers in the whitewashing; Neri had been lucky that she'd always followed his true, gentle aspect, and done so quietly. Nobody wanted to believe the sweet old woman who made herbal remedies also picked the ones that helped ease life into death, even when she told people her faith.

In the lightened world, nobody wanted to hear about death. And Azal hadn't been listening to anybody's prayers. When she'd been young, most herbs had been left to the druids. But they were gone, and there were few neutral gods about. "Help an old woman to her cottage, will you?" There, they could talk without anybody to overhear. She could discuss what few wanted to discuss, which was ‘deities not acceptable to the light’.

"Oh. Yes. Certainly." He fumbled with his own gear. "Let me help you."

Neri revised her opinion of him as they were walking through the community. He wasn't stupid, just needed to refresh his skills. Everything seemed safe, but there were those who managed to keep their natures despite the whitewashing that occurred.

She was one of them. Of course, people assumed that the god of death's followers couldn't be benevolent. She was one of the ones that was, but some of Azal’s followers were not. And the very odd thing about the whitewashing is that people had looked at her and assumed she was a good person and therefore not a follower of Azal. Which didn't make sense to her, but people would do what people would do.

Finally, they arrived at her cottage and she set a pot on the fire with water for tea. "So you follow...." He trailed off, as if afraid to say anything.

"Azal." She'd been speaking his name for fifty years, ever since she was old enough to follow her mother in her hymns of praise. "We know everything."

"I suppose that the followers of the god of death would," he said, though he followed her tea-making very carefully.

"Then you're more familiar with us than the average folk. Just because Azal's a god of death doesn't mean he isn't the god of whispered secrets and knowledge." 

"Knowledge... um, you mean not magic knowledge."

"Eh, he leaves that to other gods." Other gods could have librarians for priests - Azal's people listened to the dying and passed on the knowledge. "Other than the spells that we learn."

"Oh." He seemed somehow disappointed. She could understand; death could be a boring business, even to those who followed him.

"Followers of the dark gods die as certainly as the light do, and Azal is less a protector than a guardian.”

"I wish I'd thought of that, but I guess that even we run out of luck sometimes." He nodded.

"Well, yours is a god of luck in the shadows, right? Doesn't do so well in the light that we've been stuck in."

"And that's why so many people worshipped him." The young man looked thoughtful. "But it was your people who made it through while hidden, wasn't it?"

"Azal's not a dark god, that's why. Death isn't evil, unless you're afraid of dying."

"Everybody," he said, "is afraid of dying."

"Death's a part of life. I'm not afraid of living, but I'm not afraid of dying, either." She said it matter-of-factly, because she knew that there was nothing to be afraid of. This body would cease to be, someday, but Azal would take good care of his loyal follower.

"I'm afraid." His eyes flickered over the tea again. "Azal's always been the one to appease before you end up in his hands."

"And there are some that do believe that you have to repent in this life," she said conversationally. She finished brewing the pot, and then poured two cups. "And some that believe that their duty is to bring as many souls to Azal as possible. I prefer to end only those lives that would find pain if they continued to live."

"Azal is a dark god, then." He tapped his fingers together, as if trying to cast a protective spell without her notice and failing. Perhaps she wasn't the only one who had lost the magic. 

"Just because I consider it part of my duty to end pain doesn't mean that I'm evil." She shook her head. Let him decide if her tea was poison or not, because she knew it wasn't. Maybe had some calming herbs in it, but that was it. "I'm not a healer; I'm an herbalist. I never swore any oaths that would prevent me from doing what my duties to Azal and the world demand."

"And if Azal came to you right this minute, and asked you to kill yourself?" He drew up, sniffing suspiciously at the tea.

"I wouldn't believe he was Azal, because he doesn't ask his followers to die, even when he did walk the earth. At least none of the sane ones would be asked to die. You'd have to ask the more barbaric followers about what they believe." She looked at him. "Don't your people have many different beliefs about Hruul?"

"Not really," he said, finally deciding to sip at his tea. She noticed he was shivering a little bit at the cold that she didn't mind at all.

"You have much education about the world, lad? Because things are never that simple. There's a saying among those that believe as I do. 'Kindness is the path to faithfulness.' If you don't believe in the worth and dignity of another person, what do you believe in?"

"That Hruul protects us in the shadows... well, most of the time." One corner of his mouth quirked up in a semi-grin. "Though, I have to confess that I've always loved the shadows, even when I was a boy."

She watched him, seeing the way his eyes misted when he spoke of his connection to the shadows. Some people were like that; she only wished she could be that way. For her, educating people about the need for kindness and how to have a better afterlife had always been more important than walking with Azal. She was sure her god was with her, but more in the way of nodding approval than giving personal guidance to her. "Then you've made a good choice on what to do with your life."

"I think so, too. But it can be hard to convince people of the beauty of the shadows."

She had to nod. "I’m not that kind of person myself, but I wish people understood Azal more, instead of dreading death. It’s not like he’s evil, he just represents something those of the Light don’t want to think about. To me, I’m not looking forward to it, but I don’t fear it either."

"Do you really believe the afterlife is as beautiful as the Barrigans believe?" he asked. "Or…."

"I believe that Azal judges us, though by the method I’m not sure." She nodded. "Some say it’s judges long dead. Some say that your soul is measured against a feather, or some other strangeness. But Azal forgives, no matter what. You may spend eternity trying to forgive yourself, but Azal forgives all, and I believe, as the Barrigans do, that the afterlife is bright colors and beautiful times."

"I’d love an afterlife of shadows and darkness, myself." The youngish man smiled. "I’m Det, by the way."

"Neri." No last name, she noted. But then again, she hadn’t precisely given him hers. "There are some that believe that only warriors deserve the bright feast-halls, and everybody else deserves a dark, dreary realm. It’s not like anybody’s come back to say what it is."

"There’s a difference between loving shadows and darkness and loving dreariness." He frowned, and she suddenly wished that she knew more about his faith. "Shadows are beautiful things. They make people and things equal, instead of judging by beauty and ugliness."

"That’s something to admire." She had to agree; the shadows weren’t all that bad. Just the people that sometimes used them to hide what they shouldn’t.

"There are people who don’t think so." Det sighed. "That’s why I ended up a shopkeeper. Now I have to find others who think the same way I do."

"Or at least those who love the shadows," Neri reminded him gently. Insisting on one way led to fundamentalism, and then one started thinking about killing the nonbelievers. Better to accept everything and sort out what you found valuable in life. "My mother helped those who needed reassurance after their loved ones had died. I preferred to help make sure that the corpses were as pretty as possible. Azal doesn’t care, but those who loved the dead do."

"I lit lanterns – after all, without light, there’s no shadow. But the neighbors knew I worshipped Hruul, and…." He paused. "So, that’s why they took me. For someone who could use the shadows better than anybody, that’s kind of embarrassing."

"Even those who loved the shadows and the dark have to return to some kind of home." She nodded. "I was safe because nobody thought ill of me or my mother, when she was alive. But she’s now in Azal’s arms, and I learned to farm herbs before anybody looked askance at me. Of course, now I’m old enough that I have to find my own people before Azal takes me in his arms."

He inclined his head. "Yes, I'm at least much younger. But I'm just not sure I can rekindle love for Hruul like that, even if I do have more time than you."

"Everyone's interconnected, everything's interconnected." Even those who didn't wish for justice and peace in their hearts were part of the whole. "You might have to go to those who love the shadows for other reasons than they make everybody equal."

She didn't like it herself, but she might have to do the same thing. Azal forgave regardless of what one did in life; she wasn't that flexible. She didn't want to be in the same group as those who killed in Azal's name, much as it pained her to admit it. She couldn't accept as easily as her god did.

Would that mean that she would be seeking forgiveness as well?

"I wish everybody understood what it was to love Hruul. I wish I could just make everybody love him. But that would be untrue to me, and to Hruul." He was nodding to himself.

"I know for sure we can't force people to love what we love." She said for her benefit, to keep it in her memory. "You've experienced firsthand what it is to have your choices taken away from you."

"Yes." There was so much in that simple word that made her heart ache and reminded her that she'd welcomed the world becoming more lighted, once. Before she realized that Azal was considered one of the dark gods. Before she saw so many of the dark become like Det, forced into something that they shouldn't be. While she loved the idea of no more thieves, no more assassins, she also knew that the way it was done was not the way to go.

"I'd love nothing more than to have everybody understand why Azal is to be loved, not feared, but the only way I can do that is to teach, not to force."

"Teaching sounds like a good idea." He was scratching his stubbly beard. "I should just wander the shadows, start looking. Then maybe I'll find someone like you, but a follower of Hruul, not Azal."

She had to laugh at that. "Ah, but I'm one in a million, I'd like to think." Well, maybe not in her branch of Azal's worship, where she was taught to love Azal, not to fear him. Where thoughtful discourse and quiet prayerful moments were the way to do it. "But I have to find someone like you, too."

That wouldn't be easy, she knew. But it was the best for the continuing worship of Azal in the region. She was one of quiet joy; she wished she could be like Det and love like he loved.

"Maybe," he said, "We should find each other." There was an impishness to his voice, and a glimmer in his eyes. "It just seems to me that I have what you lack, and you have what I lack."

She thought about it. She'd never been much for Hruul's worship, that of thieves and assassins as much as the love of equality, but she had to admit that Det himself was a good person, despite how she'd met him. After all, he had been enjoying the dark for benign reasons, or so she assumed.

Hers was a faith that tended to assume the best of people, after all, with some caution. She wondered how his was, and resolved to learn. Azal would surely smile at her for her scholarship, her knowledge, her attempt to reach beyond the comfortable and make friends with the uncomfortable.

"Yes." With that, she reached out her hand. He took it.

They both had a long way to go, but she had faith that together, they could do it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Relief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187036) by [Estirose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estirose/pseuds/Estirose)




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